CHAPTER 311: CHAPTER 311 - THE COIN’S CONTRACT (EDRIK’S SIDE STORY 1/2)

From the way Edrik handled the knife to carve the ice cube, Atlas could tell one thing with certainty, the man was skilled. His grip, his control, his precision... they weren’t the movements of a casual worker.

Edrik was trained, that much was obvious. Whether that training came from a past as a fighter or merely from years of bartending, Atlas couldn’t yet tell. But the ease with which he wielded the blade felt too natural, too practiced.

Edrik, who had earlier accepted the mysterious gold coin, one Atlas still couldn’t identify, continued working as if nothing had happened. He didn’t falter, didn’t pause, and not once did his expression change. There was no smile, no frown, not even the faintest trace of fatigue. Just the same emotionless, flat look.

Time passed slowly until, around two in the morning, Edrik finally finished his shift. He tidied up, cleaned his tools, and disappeared briefly into the back room. When he emerged again, he walked out the back door without saying a word to anyone.

Atlas floated above, silently following.

Outside, Edrik leaned against the brick wall, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with steady hands. He took a long drag, the ember flaring red in the dark, then exhaled a thin stream of smoke before tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel.

Then, without hesitation, he began walking.

Atlas followed, curious. Edrik’s steps were sharp and purposeful, yet almost soundless as he moved through the quiet city streets. Streetlights glowed dimly along the roadside, casting long shadows across the cobblestones.

The city around them looked somewhat advanced but still behind compared to Atlas’s own world. There were cars here, yes, boxy and mechanical, running on electricity or fuel. But the overall technology felt dated, incomplete.

Atlas lifted his gaze toward the night sky, scanning carefully.

No floating islands.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see further beyond the clouds, but still, nothing.

"Strange," he thought. "Either this world simply doesn’t have floating islands... or they’re so high above that no one down here could ever see them."

Atlas continued to follow Edrik silently as the man made his way through the quiet streets, eventually entering a ten-story apartment building. The lobby was dimly lit and empty, the sound of Edrik’s shoes echoing softly on the tile floor as he climbed the stairs rather than taking the elevator.

He stopped at one of the upper floors, unlocked a door, and stepped inside.

Atlas floated in after him, scanning the room carefully. The apartment was surprisingly neat, almost unnervingly so. Everything was perfectly arranged: the couch aligned with the low table, the books stacked evenly on the shelves, and the kitchen spotless. A television stood in one corner, next to a small reading area, but the whole place radiated the same cold order that defined Edrik himself.

It was the home of a man who lived alone. At least, that was how it looked at first glance.

Edrik went to the sink, filled a glass with water, and drank without a sound. The only noise was the soft rush of the tap and the faint clink of glass against metal.

Atlas hovered nearby, watching closely. Up until now, not a single word had escaped Edrik’s lips. The silence around him felt almost unnatural, like speech itself was unnecessary for him.

Then, after a moment, Edrik walked into his bedroom and opened his wardrobe.

And there it was, the answer Atlas had been waiting for.

The interior of the wardrobe lit up automatically with a small white light, revealing what lay inside: rows of firearms and blades, all meticulously arranged. Pistols, rifles, combat knives, and several short swords gleamed under the faint glow.

"Oh... damn, Edrik?" Atlas muttered under his breath.

Edrik reached for one of the swords, drew it halfway from its sheath, inspecting the edge with a calm, practiced eye before fastening it to his belt. Then he took a sleek pistol from its rack, checked the magazine, and, after a short, deliberate click, slid it back into place.

He also picked up a few small items from the shelf: a pair of black gloves, a silencer attachment, and a small device which he slipped into his coat pocket.

When he was done, he closed the wardrobe, straightened his jacket, and glanced briefly toward the window where the city lights flickered faintly below.

Atlas’s mind began to race.

Is this... his real job?

The precision, the weapons, the silence, all of it pointed to one conclusion.

An assassin?

And that gold coin from earlier... could it have been a contract marker? A payment token for a kill order?

That would explain everything, the way Edrik accepted it without a word, the faint change in his expression, and his calm preparation now.

It wasn’t a coincidence. That coin had been a signal. Edrik was heading out to fulfill a contract.

**

Atlas continued to trail Edrik through the quiet streets of the sleeping city. After a while, the man stopped by a narrow alley where a black motorcycle waited. Without hesitation, he mounted it, started the engine, and sped off into the night, his coat fluttering behind him like a shadow.

The ride didn’t take long. He parked the bike at the corner of a tall building, hidden beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp, and continued on foot. His movements were silent, each step calculated. He blended with the darkness as if he were part of it.

Soon, a large estate came into view. A mansion with high walls, wide courtyards, and guards stationed at the gates. From a distance, Atlas could already sense how heavily guarded the place was. But Edrik didn’t approach from the front. Instead, he slipped around the perimeter, heading for the back.

Two guards near the gate chatted idly, laughing softly, unaware of the shadow creeping along the outer wall.

Edrik crouched low, then with a swift, fluid motion, leapt upward. His hands caught the edge of the stone wall, and in one effortless pull, he climbed over and dropped soundlessly onto the other side.

Atlas’s eyes widened slightly. The strength in that movement, it was clear proof that Edrik was awakened.

Once inside, Edrik advanced with expert precision, using the terrain and the shadows to his advantage. He moved from pillar to pillar, slipping through blind spots. His control over his presence was remarkable. So refined that even the faintest sound of his boots was absorbed by the night.

Then, as Edrik turned into a long corridor, a guard in a black suit appeared at the other end. Their eyes met for a single second, just enough for surprise to flash across the guard’s face.

Before he could react, Edrik moved.

He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his short sword gleaming in the moonlight. The blade slipped cleanly across the man’s throat. The guard’s body crumpled to the floor, his weapon still sheathed at his side.

That... was an incredibly clean kill.

Edrik moved deeper into the estate. He dispatched the guards one by one, quick, clean kills that left not even the faintest noise behind. Each time a body hit the ground, he dragged it into the shadows, concealed it behind furniture, pillars, or corners, until the mansion itself seemed unaware that its security had been erased from within.

Atlas followed him closely, unable to look away. Is it that his enemies are too weak... or is Edrik just this good at killing?

Whatever the answer was, it became clear that this was not his first time doing this. His movements carried the calm rhythm of experience.

After several minutes of careful ascent, Edrik reached one of the upper floors. He stopped before a door at the end of a long corridor, his expression as flat as ever. With one hand, he turned the knob and quietly pushed the door open.

Atlas floated in behind him as the door closed softly.

Inside was a well-lit bedroom, simple, almost sterile. A single bed sat in the corner, and on it was a figure.

A young girl.

She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. Her short black hair framed a pale face filled with fear. Her wide eyes trembled as she stared at the man who had just entered her room.

Atlas felt a knot tighten in his chest. Who is she?

Edrik’s face shifted for the first time since the memory began. There was something faint, an emotion flickering briefly beneath the surface. Recognition, maybe? But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He took slow, silent steps toward the girl, his shadow stretching across the floor. The child froze, her lips parting as if to scream. But no sound came out.

Her breath came in short, uneven gasps. She shook her head frantically as she pressed herself back. "Wh-who... are you..."

Edrik reached her side, his hand rising toward her neck.

Atlas’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Wait, Edrik’s going to kill her?